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2013.12.30 - Formidable Joy
Coney Island has been left behind. After their adventures on the roller coasters, Kwabena recommended that they head back uptown, deeper into Brooklyn proper. To Williamsburg It's got booze, a taco truck, and one hell of a patio that one would never have expected from the campy, dilapidated storefront through which one might enter. "Tourist traps," Kwabena had explained, in reference to bars that look like bars. "Places like dese? Out of towners think dey're nothing. Not open for business, certainly a place to go and hang out. Dis is where you go to avoid tourists." They'd spend a good couple of hours bumming around Williamsburg. Kwabena had shared some of his history... starting from what brought him to New York as a gutterpunk, and ending with how he ended up a member of the X-Men. It would seem that the critical moment was when he stumbled upon a bank robbery, which was none other than a heist being carried out by Victor Von Doom. An unlikely alliance was made after that heist, between Kwabena, Betsy Braddock, and Domino. Concerned for what weapons Doom had displayed, a completely unchartered effort was made to infiltrate Latveria and 'give Doom a black eye'. Well, that hadn't gone so well. It ended up landing Shift, Carol Danvers, and a number of other team members in captivity. Kwabena had spent weeks being tortured, starved, beaten down, and eventually, through Doom's Orwellian strategies, ended up once again addicted to heroin courtesy of the opiate-producing nanites Doom injected into his bloodstream as payment for his betrayal. After Latveria had ended, and a massive orchestration of mercenary, X-Men and SHIELD operatives went in to rescue those who had been captured, many chips fell into different places. Kwabena's chips fell with the X-Men. They were among the only people who could help him cope with the nanites. Certainly there are many things that were looked over. It's not a detailed history in the slightest, but it serves to give Rachel a better idea of where he's come from. "So, when Lehnsherr first showed me how to attain plasma phase?" Kwabena concludes. "It literally burned up all of dose nanites. Had Jean not helped me to ovahcome de withdrawal symptoms earlier, to resist the nanites and de way dey tried to keep me high? De sudden withdrawal from opiates would have killed me. No doubt about dat." The roller coasters were just as much fun as Rachel had hoped, and her hotdog didn't make an unwelcome reappearance! She'd have happily ridden them all again, losing herself in a childhood that was cut short and that she only half remembers, but eventually she let Kwabena prise her away from the attractions of Coney Island. She complained a bit, but it was good natured and mostly all in fun. She understands that there's more to the evening than adrenaline, speed and freedom, as much as she's enjoyed those things blotting out everything else that's happened recently. Eventually, then, Rachel finds herself sitting in what turned out to be a bar, with Shift. His explanation for why he chose this particular venue sparks a memory of another day. "Reminds me of Genosha. Is there anywhere you /don't/ have a safehouse?" She's teasing him, of course. The bar might be obscure, but it's hardly his private domain, at least as far as she knows. "What's my cover this time?" She asks, still teasing. As Shift steers the conversation toward his past - or at least, the more recent past, the parts she's not seen when she's been in his mind before, she feels obscurely guilty about closing off that part of herself, tonight. She knows herself well enough not to let that spur her into changing her mind, at least not completely. Shift may feel comfortable talking about his own past, but she knows she's not quite there yet. Better for both of them if she doesn't try. All that's left to do is listen, and at least she can do that much. As Shift comes to the end of his tale, Rachel reaches across the table and gives his arm a quick squeeze, before withdrawing. There's a crooked smile on her face as she says, "That's another one I owe Jean, and one for him too, I guess. I'll try to remember that next time he's trying to kill us." It's an odd way to say 'I'm glad you didn't die before I met you', but that's Rachel. She draws back a little. "It sounds like joining the... Institute was a nightmare for you." She says it frankly, and gives her head a little shake. "For me, it was like coming home." She thinks about that for a second. "Well, like coming home to find out someone's rearranged all your furniture, and everyone you know's forgotten you." She shrugs. "I still think I got the better deal." Kwabena openly laughed at the joke made about Genosha and his safehouses. "Oh, dere are some few places. But if I don't have one, I can find one. Or make one." Their first real encounter, after all, was at his safehouse right here in Brooklyn. Beating up on Isaac's cronies. That was fun. "Covah? You're a rich girl from Indianapolis who's on her first trip to New York, and she's being hit on by one of de locals. Classic story. It'll make a fine romantic comedy one day. We just have to sort out de epic fight and rendezvous at de airport." Now, Kwabena didn't mind sharing some of those pieces. He's retaining a distinct understanding that Rachel is not in the same place, but it's always helpful for people to know where each other have come from. He believes her story will come in time, and he's happy to share is. As unfortunate and morose as it can be, there's a distinct pride, subdued of course, in the way he tells it. For he's not slave to Latveria, and he's overcome the greatest of those obstacles. With no shortage of mirth, a smirk winds its way onto his face. "Erik Lehnsherr. You can't love him, and when you want to hate him, he does you a favah." Kwabena caught that message. It brings a softening to his smile, but he doens't speak anything of it. Sometimes words just aren't really that important in the end. The smile regains its rueful nature when she speaks of the Institute. "I didn't exactly show up dere in de same mannah as most of de students," he admits. "Charles nevah came to my parents house to talk about his education programs." He listens to how Rachel speaks of it, it's familiarity and such, and though he smiles in appreciation, there's an ironic nature to it all. "It is a nice place. A safe place. And it's good for de students dere. Honestly, I think de only reason I even stay dere is because dere are some few of de students who are like me. Kids who didn't come from de prettiest places, nice suburban homes with two cars, a dog and a cat. I undahstand dem. Dey can learn how to come from where dey come from and not get involved in some of de things I've gotten involved in." The unspoken nature of it all, however, is that... at the end of the day, it's not home to Kwabena. Home is where he is, where he knows what's around the corner, and where he feels he has some sort of an advantage. In a funny way, the Institute is not that place. It may explain why he doesn't have a teaching job there, or why he doesn't have his own quarters, rather opting to stay in the crew barracks underground. Somehow Rachel already knew that Kwabena had more than his share of boltholes - over and above the ones she's already seen. She's more interested in the 'cover story' she's just made him come up with, and she's not disappointed. He answers so swiftly and smoothly it's almost like he was expecting the question. "I like it." She tells him, with an impish smile. "But I'm hoping we can put the epic fight off until later in the movie." She's enjoying the present act too much. Magneto, though... that makes a distant look come into her eyes. "He's not the man I remember." Her eyes focus again, a wry smile twisting her lips. "Genosha proved that much. But I can't tell you about the man I knew without telling you the rest and... I still need some time." She gestures toward her head. "It's still a mess, in here." That's not the only reason she needs time, and they both know it. But it's at least part of it. "Just be careful around him, OK?" Genuine concern flickers across her features. She's seen what it took to stop Magneto, and Jean won't always be there. Talking about the Institute doesn't cross any of Rachel's red lines, oddly enough. "Nor did I." She points out quickly, with a bit of a smug look. "I was born into it, remember?" But she doesn't interrupt too much more, letting Kwabena talk. One of them has to or it'll be a quiet evening. She doesn't scan his thoughts as he talks, and when she replies, she wonders if she's talking to him, herself, or both of them. "You can change their future. I'm still trying to change mine." There's a slightly darker note in her voice there, but she shrugs it off. "It's worth sticking around. It's too easy to think what we /have/ to do is all there is, without the Institute to come home to. Or at least, to visit once in a while." "Wait," answers Kwabena. "I've got it. De epic fight already happened. Dat's why dis movie is so unexpected!" When the conversation drifts to Magneto, there's a most thoughtful look in his eyes. He quietly sips at his beer while thinking about it, but he's drawn from it with her warning. "Yeah," he answers. That's an understatement, to be sure. Their last encounter was under truce, and even it hadn't gone so well. "He's got... very different sides to him. I've seen dem. Maybe not all of dem, but..." And then, a thought strikes him, and it's one he gives voice to shortly after a humored smirk comes about. "He's very polarized." Oh, we can just hear the people laughing! "That's... still kind of freakish," he admits. "Thinking of Jean and Scott, and... de age difference and... did I make some kind of mistake by not asking Scott that I could take you out?" Clearly he's joking, but one has to admit, time travel certainly does a number on things. "Or, if Scott finds out I did something stupid, is he going to come try to beat me up like a broddah, or pull de dad card?" He laughs about it all, for he's openly being facetious about it. He understands it all goes deeper than that, of course. He shakes his head and offers, "I am glad I don't have to deal with dat whole mess. Hell, I know right where my parents are." When at last the conversation comes to the Institute, however, he sobers right up. "I'm still trying to figure mine out," he offers, before shrugging. "It's a good place. I've no intention of evah turning in de keys. But it's a big, big world out dere, and not all of it has de blessing of Charles Xavier's trust fund." Well, there /was/ a fight. Maybe Kwabena's right. Rachel's not going to argue, since things could get considerably more epic if there's a second round. Rachel's head tilts a little to one side, her green eyes studying his as they adopt that thoughtful look. His thoughts are right there, close enough to touch, and if it's about something Magneto's done, or is about to do, then surely she should... no. Not tonight. So a look of concern creeps into Rachel's eyes. She's not about to start any sentence with 'I can't believe he'd...', because after what she witnessed in Genosha, there's very little she doesn't believe him capable of. The man she knew hasn't been born yet, it's as simple as that... and because she's starting to worry, when Shift makes his joke Rachel reaches out to slap him lightly on the arm, but the glare that accompanies it chases away the worry, at least. And then the conversation turns to the thorny matter of Rachel's parentage, and she actually relaxes again. A little while ago she wouldn't have, but she's gotten past the awkwardness of the situation. Others might not have. She snorts and shakes her head, then chuckles quietly to herself as a thought hits her. "Maybe you should have. Asked him, I mean. I'd have loved to see that." She's amusing herself imagining that, and not paying quite as close attention to what Shift's saying. Probably why she doesn't take him to task for suggesting she'd LET Scott fight her battles for her. Instead she comes back to what he said first, wrinkling her nose a bit. "/Freakish/ is a bit much. I'd go for odd, though." She chuckles quietly to herself again. "And you think it bothers you. I have to stop myself telling them they're doing it wrong." She looks a little sad. "I know they're not my parents, but they could be. It's hard not to think of them that way." Rachel picks up on Kwabena's altered mood, and nods in agreement. He doesn't need to tell her that. "Yeah. And a big chunk of that world wouldn't like what we do there." She looks down at the table, looking into the past. "I'll have to do a better job of protecting it this time, is all." Freakish may be the wrong way to put it, but in fact... "What's a real mind fuck is dat... some day, they might be." As in, some day they might give birth to a little Rachel of their own in this timeline. "Dough I wondah if dey would be so bold as to use the same exact name." As far as actually having asked Scott to take her out? He scoffs, and he scoffs hard. "I'd much rathah take a punch square to de face from Logan when he's angry," he quips. "Scott's a great guy, bit of an ass sometimes, but people need a good asshole around to keep things in line." And that, right there, is why Kwabena respects Scott, and doesn't often make fun of the guy. When Rachel looks down, however, Kwabena reaches across the table, finding her hands. "Hey." He tries to stop that chain of thought right there. "Isn't that what we're all doing? One way or de oddah?" He squeezes his fingers, then leans forward just a bit, so that he can speak more quietly. "But not tonight. Tonight, we got a show to see." Releasing her hands, Kwabena stands up with the glass of beer in hand, pausing long enough to take it down with one big gulp. "It's not far, and I've got us on de guest list, so we don't have to wait in line. Night's young, Red." There were many things that could have been said, many ways they might have taken that conversation. However, the truth of the matter is... his plans for the evening aren't yet over, and there is a schedule to maintain here! She objects to freakish, he ups the ante to mind fuck? She should have quit while she was behind! He does have a point though. "Somehow I doubt it." She wouldn't be me. They'd be acknowledging I /am/ their daughter. All these thoughts chase themselves around Rachel's mind, some sad, some a little bitter, so she doesn't give voice to any of them, and keeps her tone light when she adds, "One of me's enough, right?" She doesn't say anything when Shift talks about Scott, though, just smiles quietly at his antics, her mind elsewhere. She knows there's a lot more to Scott than Kwabena's saying... and considering the crater she left when she thought he'd been killed, she's not about to agree with his character assassination /now/ - even if it is all in fun. She looks up in surprise when Kwabena captures her hands, but she doesn't pull away. "We'll see." She says, honestly, before she can think better of it. It's easy to be confident when you haven't seen it happen. Distraction works better than reassurance, and Rachel looks up as Kwabena stands, surprised and curious. "We do?" She asks, but joins him quickly enough. "Pretty confident this'd go well, huh?" She asks him, amused, as she comes around the table to his side. A moment later, her eyes slide sideways, calculatingly. A show. She's on pretty unfamiliar ground, which makes her a little uneasy. She needs another distraction. Or at least, that's the excuse she gives herself as she slips into his mind. She doesn't want to spoil herself, so she keeps away from what he knows about the show itself. But she /would/ like to know if she's appropriately dressed... seeking out his impression of how she /should/ look shouldn't be too hard. Maybe Kwabena ought to quit while he's ahead?? Either way, he does remark, "One's all I need. Thank goodness for Quantum Theory." This won't be easy. Kwabena is beginning to realize that. There's a part of him that, for a brief moment, almost thinks about bailing out. But then again, who else would he go to? He'd kept himself closed off for so long, especially from romance. Real romance, not one-night-stand kind of bullcrap. He'd kept himself from it for lack of trust, for lack of wanting to open up the complicated and ugly history he'd always kept so close to his cuff. However, he'd begun to feel that, of anyone he'd met, Rachel might be the only one who could really understand him... without being so closed off from her own history to be able to connect. Perhaps that's why he keeps bringing it up. Either way, a distraction would be wonderful right about now, he can't disagree with that. "Well," he answers, "I figure... if it didn't go well... dey aren't gonna miss us." Beat. "There's a promoter in town dat owes me some few favors. He's made good now." As they walk out to the street and the short distance to where Kwabena's motorcycle is parked, she'll find it easy enough. Kwabena knows she can pull that trick now, and no... she's not exactly appropriately dressed for the show they're going to. She'd stick out like a sore thumb, in fact. Far more appropriate would be something along the lines of this: Denim jacket, complete with all of the appropriately ironic buttons and patches. He can even think of a few, too. A French flag, the peace sign, a Nirvana patch, the list goes on. A short, black leather skirt, donned with metal spikes, and high heels that match its color and are similarly spiked. Red tights with black fishnets overtop of them, and a slashed up 'Ramones' t-shirt, mens cut originally, overtop a black bodysuit to offer some protection from the cold. Most importantly? Her hair is spiked. Keys rattle, and a cigarette comes out of its pack. He'll smoke as much of it as he can before they reach the rebuilt Harley, for he's got no desire to be blowing smoke into Rachel's face as they ride. Rachel's not entirely unaware that she's making Kwabena's life difficult by failing to take the openings he keeps giving her to open up, to reciprocate with some stories of her own. She's feeling the pressure, and she's beginning to /want/ to tell him the truth, at least as far as she knows and remembers it, rather than hide it from him. That's a big change - and because he's not a telepath, he might never know. There's something else, too - this is the first 'date' Rachel has ever been on, at least in a world that makes some kind of sense. It's selfish, but she wants tonight to be about something new, not what a mess her world made of her. She doesn't pick up on Shift's desire to back out. Maybe it would have been better for them both if she had. She's a bit nonplussed when, for once, he seems to fail to realise she's teasing him over the show. "If it helps, you were right?" She suggests, proving once more that, when she's not using her telepathy, she misses a whole host of signals. As she follows him to the bike, her lips curve into a secretive smile as she ferrets out the information she'd been after. She's a little surprised, but only more intrigued now. Looking at the bike again, though, she decides not to act on it /just/ yet. Quiet and thoughtful, she's not expecting him to light up, and briefly entertains the idea of enclosing him in a telekinetic bubble to keep the smoke away. It's a playful thought, quickly dismissed, and though it's not her favourite habit of his, she doesn't object. Although she doesn't walk /quite/ so close to him either. It's only when they've reached their destination and Rachel's dismounted that the reason for her preoccupied state of mind becomes clear. As she runs her fingers through her hair to rescue it from the ravages of the helmet, it's left spiked up just so, and in the space between blinks she's wearing a fair facsimile of the outfit she stole from his mind. She looks at him far too innocently, her eyebrows raised just slightly, inviting him to comment, before she's compelled to say, "I guess you got more out of my disguise than I realised, that time." She grins, waiting for him to join her. "Don't expect this all the time." She tells him impishly. "Don't expect what every--" Kwabena's words are cut short when Rachel's attire transforms. He blinks his eyes twice, jaw agape as her fashion sense suddenly mimics a thought he'd had not very long ago. The surprise is short-lived, replaced by a toothy grin that just might say loads about what other thoughts might be crossing his mind. "Dat would take de fun out of it," he retorts, before walking up toward Rachel from around his bike. He hesitates a moment, before taking a step closer, slipping his arm around the slightly shorter redhead's shoulders. "How did you know?" He shoots Rachel a knowing grin. He could certainly get used to this! "Come on," he beckons next, and motions toward the concert venue not more than a block away. There are cars, taxis, bicycles, motorcycles, and a throng of people outside the venue, a popular spot in Williamsburg known as 'The Knitting Factory'. "Remembah dat favah I talked about?" he asks, before motioning toward a much smaller line, only four deep, in an alley just to the west of the main entrance. "Don't expect dis every time." As they come upon the bouncer, the burly looking fellow presents Kwabena with a rueful smirk. "Jomas, you coffee-snortin' bastard." Clearly born and raised in Brooklyn, based on the heavy accent. "So's youse I gots ta thank for boss givin' me a hard time." "Yeah, yeah," answers Kwabena. "You got my plus one?" The bouncer looks over at Rachel, raising his eyebrows. "Wish I had your plus one." Up comes Kwabena's middle finger, aimed squarely at the bouncer. "Yeah, yeah, alright. You two, go on in. Got a space near the front for ya's." "Thanks." Kwabena gives Rachel another smirk, before slipping past the bouncer and into the darkened venue. Rachel wanted him to be surprised. He's so good at being smooth and confident that she /wanted/ to surprise him, and she succeeded. The way his mouth drops open when he gets a look at her new outfit is just icing on top. She grins back at him, smugly, then laughs as he recovers his composure. "And we couldn't have that, could we?" She says lightly, watching him as he walks toward her, grin widening slightly as he hesitates. She doesn't move to cross the last bit of distance between them, apparently not feeling the need to make things easy for him. When his arm finally finds its way around her shoulders she reaches up to brush her fingers against his for a moment, her grin having become a quiet smile of pleased satisfaction. A very faint frown mars her expression a couple of seconds later as notices something, and ruefully thinks to herself that she should have made the heels that /little/ bit higher. But then, this outfit was taken directly from Kwabena's mind, so if he likes her to be shorter than him? She'll indulge him this time. "Magic." Is her only answer to his question, though really that's all the answer he should need. She moves with him as he draws her onward, walking with complete comfort and confidence in her outfit, just as if it was an old favourite she'd picked out, rather than Kwabena's idea of how she should look. "Really?" She teases him. "What if /I/ get used to this?" She might not know exactly what she's in for yet, but it doesn't stop her teasing him about it. Rachel lets Kwabena deal with the bouncer, although being thought of as an extension of him and not her own person irks her slightly, and she raises her eyebrows right back at the bouncer when he looks her over. Kwabena's middle finger defuses the situation, and the slight feeling of pressure from Rachel's direction dissipates as suddenly as it had started to build. She even manages an honest smile and a "Thanks!" For the bouncer as they pass him, though her curious eyes find Kwabena again - or try to, in the darkness. The suspense is killing her. "Gotta know how to deal with meatheads like Ray," remarks Kwabena. He hadn't appreciated the bouncer's sexist remarks, either, but he wasn't going to make a scene out of it. Brooklyn's Brooklyn, and it's around. The middle finger was enough. It got them in. In the darkness, Kwabena doesn't stray far from Rachel. He keeps his arm around her as they keep inside the VIP barriers, bypassing a veritable cesspool of concertgoers on their way to the front area. Upon the stage, which is barely lit, there can be seen a minimal amount of equipment. One drumset, two amplifier rigs, and two microphone stands. In the shadows, three people walk out and take their places. Seems they're right on time. Suddenly, the entire venue comes alive with light and sound as the band begins to play. Before it grows too loud, Kwabena leans over to speak into Rachel's ear, "Dey're Welsh. Name's Joy Formidable. Saw dem some few years ago in Chicago. Won't believe de sound dey're able to pull off with three membahs!" And then as their first (and among their most popular) songs begin, he's content to simply enjoy it, though he can't help but wonder what Rachel might think of his choice. "I had a few ideas." Rachel replies firmly, sounding very sure of herself. "But you got there first." The darkness is useful, it hides the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tension that comes into her jaw, as her mercurial temper flickers fitfully within her before dying down again, and she's relaxed once more. She knows she can take care of herself. She'll just have to prove that to Shift sometime - she's not about to spoil a great night just because he felt the need to protect her! Rachel doesn't try to leave Shift's side, content with his arm around her shoulders, although her look of curiosity only deepens when she takes in the equipment on the stage. The desire to peek is strong again, and it's become a game with her to resist it. Her hand's stolen up to clasp lightly around Shift's fingers again, and the tightening of her grip is the only thing that betrays her surprise at the sudden explosion of sound and light. Rachel seems transfixed for several seconds, not reacting to Kwabena's words in her ear as the music rolls over and through her body, the lights dazzling her eyes. It's an experience unlike any she's ever encountered. She's fitted in so well that it's perhaps easy to forget that some things are completely outside her experience, and this is one of them. Listening to CDs does NOT compare. Those seconds of surprise pass, and then Rachel's laughing, out loud and in Kwabena's mind her eyes shining, her body moving unconsciously to the music, her other arm stealing around Kwabena's waist. << Thank you. >> She tells him, her mental voice happy and - impossibly - sounding breathless. And then the laughter is back, as she loses herself in the experience. Kwabena had a suspicion that Rachel had never been to a good rock and roll show. He's been to plenty, and it still gets him every time. There's no wonder she's a bubble of emotions, some of them so fierce that he can sense them through her body language alone. Eventually he joins her in her laughter, showing her a few things, such as the fist-in-the-air, the typical rock show head-bob, and eventually, the headbang. It kind of looks silly, a tall, bald African dude trying to headbang, but he does it anyway. The show goes on for quite some time, the band playing for a solid 45 minute set. They go through a number of their hits, a few lesser known songs, and eventually end with a bang. When it's all said and done, Kwabena is a sweaty mess, his ears are ringing, and he's grinning from ear to ear. "Here's de paht where you buy a CD, or a band t-shirt, or try and get backstage to meet dem. But one rule with rock concerts, Red -- you nevah wear de band's t-shirt to dere own show." Rachel's a quick study - some of that's natural, the rest is being skimmed from the minds around her for a crash course - but she still probably looks quite silly as she copies Kwabena's moves. She doesn't care. She's free, and happy. She's having fun. And with all the other minds around her reflecting the same feelings, for a telepath it's a heady mix indeed. When the set ends, the effect on Rachel doesn't, she's still on a high, still almost vibrating with energy, and her own grin threatens to split her face. And when Kwabena imparts his wisdom to her? She just laughs again, carefree, and turns to face him, draping her arms across his shoulders. "I had something else in mind first." She moves in closer, going up on her toes a little bit more, and kisses him. When she pulls away, she's smiling impishly at him. "I've had a great time. Let's buy a CD and go home." Category:Log